


Only Ones Who Know

by clumsycopy



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Breathplay, College, Creampie, F/M, Orgasm Denial, Squirting, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clumsycopy/pseuds/clumsycopy
Summary: Charlie Barber is a master when it comes to plays, theatre, the fine arts. When it comes to computers, he gives the I.T. department of UCLA a run for their money; getting into something new almost every day. Good thing it happens whenever you're on your shift, you're more than happy to fix things for him.Today is supposed to be another menial day of work.You couldn't be more wrong.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Only Ones Who Know

**Author's Note:**

> Eeek who let me write this fluffy thing. Why must I feel these sweet feelings?

“Professor Barber?” Three knocks follow your sentence, knuckles tracing the dark mahogany wood. Charlie’s office door fits him, you think, imposing and elegant as he is. Not to mention _large_ as he is.  
  


His voice echoes from inside, distant and muffled, “Come in.” 

You turn the golden arabesque doorknob, pushing the door open with your body. In the same manner you close it behind you and wait for the small ‘click’ of the lock to fade before speaking.  
"Well, I was wondering when I'd get a ticket from you."

He’s sitting at his desk, swallowed by towers of folders and books and loose sheets. The shelf behind him has several hollow spots where the books once were. In the middle of that organized mess there’s a clearing where his laptop sits. As you approach, Charlie’s lips tilt up in a smile that brings out the small bags under his eyes that you love so much. "Were you?"

You walk over to him, sitting on the padded leather chair across his table. "It seems I see you almost every shift, can't blame me for looking forward to it, professor. Plus there’s always a different thing for me to solve. I like it, it keeps me guessing."

He speaks your name, consuming each syllable, voice dropping one tone lower. "You should know by now to call me Charlie."

_I know. But I can’t._

"I'll try harder," you drawl, lifting two crossed fingers. “I promise. What happenedthis time?”

“Good and old coffee. I think I’ve outdone myself.” He lifts his laptop, turning the keyboard in your direction. The once white surface is now stained brown, glistening in places where it shouldn’t. A few drops of the liquid still run across the computer, dripping on his desk.

Your voice rises in amusement and curiosity, “How much did you spill?”

“More than I should, I’m afraid,” he replies, biting his lip. Charlie taps the culprit paper cup of coffee to his right and it slides a few inches, now empty.

“To be fair, the amount you should spill is zero.” You tap your finger on his desk. “Can I take a closer look?”

He nods, offering you his laptop, brushing his long fingers over your hands. “Of course. Here you go, this is all yours.”

Looking at the damage up close confirms to you there’s nothing you can do about it while in his office. Your shoulders dip down, slumped in disappointment.

“Well, professor, I think you might have just earned yourself a replacement computer while I work on fixing yours.” You fold his laptop shut, pulling it on your lap, hands crossed over its surface. There’s nothing else you can do for him, but you hesitate, in hopeful anticipation that something will come up and extend the meeting.

"In that case I consider myself lucky. Still, I have to insist that you use my first name when we’re alone like this. I’m not your professor, I’m quite a few ways far from it, being that you’re in the Computer Science department. Why do you keep calling me by my title? Let me make you a wager: by the end of this afternoon, you'll walk out of here calling me ‘Charlie’." He huffs out a laugh, drawing your gaze to the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down, how the hollow of his throat constricts as he exhales.  
  


Pressing your forearms on the edge of his desk for support, you lean forward. “You sound so sure, professor.”

“You sound doubtful. So stubborn, aren’t you?” A smile trembles on his plush lips, his eyebrow raising in an elegant arch.  
  


“I am,” you match his smile in response, wanting nothing but to pepper his face with kisses and earn an even wider grin.

“To your demise, I’m just as stubborn as you are. You know, there’s something I heard this week. Hallway talk. I overheard your name and some sparse words.” His eyes flicker up to you, studying your face.  
  


“I didn’t take you for a fan of gossip, professor.” Your knees bump on the solid wood of his desk as you slide to the edge of your chair.

  
His jaw sets, motion emphasizing the slight hollows of his cheekbones. “I’m not. But I have to admit in this instance curiosity got the best of me. Is it true that you’re a writer?”

  
  
You hope the burning embarrassment is not visible on your skin. “Oh. That. I write in my spare time, but I don’t think I can call myself a writer. I left a couple tabs open on my laptop by accident when I presented something and some classmates thought it was hilarious and started giving me some shit for it. It’s stupid, they’re just the stereotypical asshole STEM students.”

  
“They’re demented, idiotic and they should be ashamed. I’m sorry this is happening to you, an university is not a place for that type of behaviour.” He lunges as if to reach out to you, but crosses his arms over his chest, instead. "While I can't control what these people do. I can help you."

"How?" you question, furrowing your eyebrows.

"Come closer," he whispers. The span of his shoulders are tight and stiff, betraying his trepidation. 

You stand, keeping his laptop pressed against your lap before turning around and depositing over the chair you sat on. When you whirl back in his direction, he's patting a spot at the left corner of his desk, beckoning you to sit there.

There's no way you'd ever say no. How could you waste a chance to be so close to him?  
  


The wooden surface flattens your thighs, legs dangling a few inches over the ground, grazing the left arm of Charlie's chair. He hovers a hand on your ankle, eyes never leaving yours, waiting approval of touch.

You push your ankle into his extended hand, feeling a jolt course through your spine as the touch you imagined for so long becomes reality.

"What do you want?" He kneads the flesh of your calves, pawing his way up your leg, unraveling your dress upwards in his path.

  
“I want... to sit on your lap.” Your heart short circuits for a moment when Charlie traces a pattern on your knee, inching higher.

He hums in the velvet baritone of his voice. "What else?"

"I want… to unbutton your shirt. Run my hands over your chest." The thought flickers straight to your cunt, a single, eager clench that has you pressing your thighs together.

Charlie's hand is there to keep them spread.

"You still want more. Tell me." His palms explore the perfect shape of your legs, settling at your inner thighs, squeezing and tugging at the pliant flesh. Your dress is folded over itself, scrunched up by your hips, exposing the skin it once covered to the coldness of the room and the intoxicating heat emanating from Charlie’s hands. His cock throbs to life at the sight of your underwear peeking from behind the apex of your thighs.

The admission slices the tension away. "I want... to fuck you."

Before you're able to say anything else Charlie hurls you on his lap, positioning your legs on either side of him. His erection raises a tent on his pants, bulge visible to you now that you're no longer ashamed of staring at his crotch.

  
He ghosts his hands over your breasts, splaying his large digits over your torso. Charlie paints a trail of fire, index finger dragging back and forth on the base of your neck.

  
  
“I'll give you what you want.” _Everything you want_ , he thinks. "But I'll make it into a lesson." The hand on your neck creeps up to your throat, tightening its grip.

“A lesson?” you choke out when he slams you on his lap, when the buckle of his belt indents the tender skin of your navel.

“In respect. For someone who’s so insistent in using my title, you could be more obedient. Even more so as I’ve reminded you over and over to use my name.” He rattles your head, holding you by your throat then lets you go, free to inhale a few breaths of air.

“Maybe I need another reminder,” you hiss against his ear.

By that time Charlie’s pants are halfway open. You do him the favor of tugging your panties to the side, but he doesn’t let you touch yourself for longer. He plucks one wrist at a time, placing your palms flat against his chest.

He settles into an aperiodic rhythm that never lets you guess what's coming next. He'll plummet into you for a few rapturous seconds, then he'll slow almost to a stop, making you savor every inch that he gives you. Charlie also will wait until you're in the fringes of an orgasm to wrench his cock out of you, ruining the budding pleasure in your core. Time after time.

After another torturous round you wail to him, “Stop pulling out! I’m so close, I-”

  
Charlie snarls on the shell of your ear, spit flying out with the asperity of his words. “I don’t care how close you are. You can come when you use my name. Why are you resisting this much?” He emphasizes each sentence with a thrust, grinding your hips back and forth over his own, indulging in animalistic pleasure.

Your hands coast his chest, fisting the fabric of his elegant shirt between your fingertips. “It’s stupid, I d-don’t want you to laugh… _pleaseletmecome_.” Your sentence is derailed by another string of harsh thrusts, brain overpowered with the feral need for release.

He yanks his cock on the last second, stomping your orgasm into ashes. You dip your head to nestle it on the crook of his neck, panting against his skin.

“Come on, you can tell me,” he coos, tracking two fingers down the back of your neck, following the trail of your spine.  
  


“It’s such an intimate act, to call you by your name. It baffles me why you’d want to do that at all,” you murmur, flattening yourself on his broad chest.

He stiffens under you, plucking your head away from his body. He searches your eyes with his own, eyebrows narrowed in concern. “Do you not want it? Any of this?”

  
  
“What?” your jaw slacks open. “No, that’s not it. I want it. I want you. I like knowing things and I don’t understand why you’d want me too. I’m just a student. I can’t talk about theatre and art and writing the way you're used to. I’ve never been to Broadway. I’m not from your world.”

“You’re not. That’s what I liked about you in the first place. You make me feel like the stupidest person in a room. Hell, I feel like a boomer every time I fuck something up and you waltz in and fix everything. Yet you never make me feel as stupid as I must look like. Time after time you greet me with a smile. Whenever I look at my laptop I remember something you’ve done for me and it makes me want to smash it on the floor if that’s what it takes to see you another day.”

  
  
“I don’t think you’re stupid. Maybe computers are not your forte, yes, but I’m happy to fix it up for you, whenever you need. I want you. I've been wanting you for a long time.” You trace the outline of his long nose. “I never thought of acting on it.”

Charlie glides a thumb over your lips. “Now, now you don't have to worry about it anymore. We’re on the same page. Just like the thing you mentioned the other day. About an internet protocol. TLP or something?”

“TCP. Of all things to remember… We’ve done the first step. Established the connection. Now it comes the data transfer.” You yelp when he pulls on your nipples hard, pulls and pulls and pulls until your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh, I have a lot to transfer.” His hand digs into the flesh of your hips, tilting your pelvis so he can re-enter in a single, harsh motion.

Your smart retort dies in your mouth, coherent words scattering into incoherent wails. 

Before your forehead can rest against his clavicle, hiding your face from his scrutinizing eyes, he fists your hair, pulling you away by the roots. It’s so tight you can’t even turn your head to either side, keeping the unwavering eye contact that he seems to like.

“You want to come?”

“Yes, yesyesyes”

“Who’s making you come?”

“You, it’s you!” you whine. “Fuck-fuckfuckfuck I- I don’t know what is happening, I think I’m peeing on you.” An unfamiliar stream of liquid follows your orgasm, soaking Charlie’s shirt.

“Shh, shh you’re just squirting all over my cock. Making a mess of me. Should I make you clean that up for me too?” He taps your cunt once then circles your clit with his thumb, massaging the sting away. “I think you can give me more. Come on. I want another one.” He shakes your head one more time and then lets go of your hair.

His hand then tweaks your nipples over the sheer fabric of your dress, giving equal attention to your left and right breasts. Charlie’s relentless rhythm is now interrupted by staggered thrusts as he chases his release. He wraps an arm around your waist, hand palming your love handles, crushing the soft flesh between his fingers to the point of blissful pain.

You rest your elbows on his shoulder, hands threading in his soft, dark hair. His long nose brushes yours, each and every one of his strained breaths fanning on your skin. There’s a delicate sound, so faint that he thinks he’s imagining it first, but he’s not and it’s the sound of you crying his name, over and over again. He plunges his lips into yours, stealing your breath with a bruising kiss.

His tongue savours every moan that never left your mouth.

When you come apart for air, you’re enthralled in seeing he is as breathless as you are, flustered as you are, desperate as you are. A reddened stripe blooms across his nose and cheeks, spreading into the tips of his big ears and the breadth of his neck. His pink, plump lips are slackened open, lower row of teeth bared to you as he grunts.

Your eyes scrunch shut in hurt pleasure when he pushes up harder, hitting a new depth you deemed impossible. In a flash a hand pinches your jaw, squeezing the vertexes of your face. “I want your eyes on me. Open up,” he demands.

His face comes into focus again, twisted into an animalistic scowl as he toes the edges of his climax. The buckle on his belt flails around, marking the tempo of the brutal way he slams into you. His white shirt is translucent in the spots you had clung onto him; a deep blue puddle blooms on his pants, following where your wetness had leaked and spread over his muscular thighs.

Charlie calls out your name, voice trembling as he does so. "You still owe me another orgasm."

"I don't know if I can," you choke out, disrupting your words with gasped curses.

"You can and you will." He wipes a stray tear from your cheek. "Don't you want to come with me? Have your greedy cunt suck me dry as I pump load after load into you?" The arm at your hip coils tighter, crushing you atop of his body; you don't know where the warmth your skin ends and his starts. His free hand roams down your sternum, pinching each nipple into a stiff peak before snapping to your clit, rubbing tight circles over it.

“Charlie, I’m coming! _Fuck, shit, God_ -” His massive hand wraps around your mouth and lower jaw like a muzzle, restricting your breathing, trapping any sounds that might be louder than they should.

Every single twitch of his cock coaxes out your orgasm. Your cunt flutters around his length, each pulse timed with your breathless whines, thighs quaking as you keep impaling yourself on him. Your body falls limp over his chest, void of enough energy to remain upwards.  
  


Both of his hands trail down your body to knead the flesh of your ass and jolt you up and down in time with his thrusts.

  
Charlie throws his head back, cursing one last word before coming apart and spilling himself inside you. There’s so much that it starts to spurt out of you, coating the base of Charlie’s cock with the mix of his cum and your wetness. He unsheathes himself, gathering the leaking spend on his fingers and pushing it back into you. His cock bobs against your lower stomach while it softens.

He brings his right hand to your mouth, prying your lips open and ramming his fingers as far as they can go. You slurp on his intrusion, tongue rolling over every ridge of his digits. With his left hand he tugs your underwear backs into its place, nudging it tight over your folds, to keep all his come safe and tucked away inside you.

Charlie removes his fingers from your mouth with a loud 'pop' as you keep sucking on them until the last second. He plants kisses on your face, tugging your lower lip between his teeth.

Your watch buzzes on your wrist--another work call--shattering the moment. With reluctant consternation, you pull away, climbing out of his drenched thighs. When you stand upright you feel the trickle of his semen out of your cunt. That makes you clench, expelling more of the thick fluid; your eyes blink shut at the sensation.  
  
The stupid thing buzzes again, urging you to gather your things and move faster. You look behind your shoulder, at the sight of Charlie Barber recomposing himself, skin glistening with sweat, pupils blown out and ruined pants. All thanks to you.

  
When you recover the use of your voice you wave him goodbye, laptop clutched under your arm. “I’ll have to take this away with me. Can’t do much outside my workstation. You busted it for real this time, Charlie. See you tomorrow on the same hour?”  
  


“Tomorrow on the same hour.” He grins, this wide smile that shows his adorable teeth, the one that you yearned for the longest time.

  
_Fuck. That sly bastard won his stupid bet._

You giggle when you close the door to his office, shaking your head as you walk away. Maybe Charlie isn’t the only winner after all.


End file.
